Add Colour To My Sunset Sky
by TheSweetestSilentSong
Summary: In the midst of it all, I was afraid. Outside, I was safe. But inside, I wasn't alone. Until I found a young man named Dan at Paddington Station. He might not have been on fire, but I was ice, frosty and unwanted, but he still loved me, in safety and danger. (Based on a true story. My true story. Please read and review)


_Written for a prompt on LJ. Just testing out my writing, haven't written in a ridiculously long time so I apologise if it is dreadful! It was from someone who wanted a Dan/OC Hurt/Comfort fic, and the plot comes from a personal experience. I hope you enjoy, please tell me what you think! I'd love to talk to any of you, please drop me a PM too!  
Please stick around for the Author's Note, it's at the end and it'll illuminate, I promise! _

_This was written in two hours on my iPhone, so all mistakes are my own. The writing is probably dreadful too. _

I once said that I was so insecure, I could be married to a man for forty years and still wonder if he actually loved me. With Andrew, it was no wonder. His protectiveness, mingling in with the occasional assertion of his love had been enough for a lonely first year student, with barely enough in the bank to scrape a tin of beans and a pint of Cravendale, to fall head over heels for the charming final year student with the cunning smile. Had I noticed all these things, perhaps I might have escaped before he had gotten hold of me.

I hadn't. Spinning between a tricky degree, financial worries and homesickness, I had been intrigued by this intelligent, articulate, financially stable, 'loving' man. For the first few months, it had been amazing. My memories of those times are tainted, but pleasant nonetheless, a dizzying rush of sleepy morning breakfasts at the cafe, lunches at various delis around the city, picnics in the park as the sun came down. Even the festival...

He had changed then. Protectiveness had become possessiveness. Lunches at the deli had dwindled into silence as I stared down at the lunch he had chosen for me, unable to look up at anyone without his hand gripping tightly onto my knee. Woe betide any man, even my coursemates, if they tried to engage me in conversations. I regularly found him inspecting my jacket, sniffing it for any trace of cologne other than his own. It worsened after I was struck down by a mystery sickness, and I suddenly found my student bank account controlled externally. I was too sick to do very much other than lie in bed, occasionally staggering into the kitchen to brew a Lemsip and pop painkillers. In the beginning, just as in the early days of our relationship, he was sweet, and gentle, as shown when it was he I woke up to his gentle voice after I collapsed down a flight of stairs. But as time wore on, and my illness showed no sign of improvement, he grew restless, and bored. Some days he would burst in, virtually smashing my bedroom door into the wall, and start screaming about how useless and dull I was. I would try to console him, in a voice too thin to satisfy him. The hits were gentle at first, mocking me, taunting. Then they grew harder, and angrier. Ironically, it made me stronger. Each day, my legs would grow a little stronger as he yanked me out of bed, tossing me across the floor, my reflexes returned a little further, ready to block the harder blows.

Afterwards, he revealed that the university had kicked me off my course for poor attendance, despite the initial faint which let to my hospitalisation being in front of several senior members of staff. I was to move out of halls with immediate effect, or I would be served with an eviction notice. I 'should be thanking' him for speaking to his contacts and managing to get my university loan reversed. I 'owed' him, yet all he wanted in return was me to move in with him. I had no choice. Here I was, a supposedly intelligent student with six A*s to her name, moving in with a man who had spent the best part of the last six months treating me as a stress toy.

I won't go into the details of those eleven months and twenty-seven days. In truth, I don't remember it. I do remember finally being strong enough, physically, to pick up my bags and leave in the middle of the night. I had planned it for months. It wasn't the best of plans but, standing at Paddington station, all that mattered was that I was free.

*

Everybody runs away to London. Perhaps it is the lure of the bright lights, the familiar architecture known all over the world. For me, it was the seven million people I could lose myself in. And in all those seven million people, I managed to find him.

I watched him sprint down the station in pursuit of a train pulling out. The 23.28 to Reading. They had been calling it for the last half hour. I had often caught that train as a teenager, bright eyed and fresh full of excitement as I headed out into London, to the ballet in Covent Garden, to the markets of Camden, to the library in the Barbican, to the... I saw a thousand of me, curvy, pretty, with a warm smile and plenty of friends. Would Teenager-Me have recognised the bruised, wispy woman sitting on the bench with the world on her shoulders? Teenager-Me would have walked right on by, promising herself smugly that she would never end up like that. I wanted to take the brat's shoulders and shake her repeatedly until she did something about that damned cough, and ignored the fit guy in the SU bar...

'Do you know when the next train to Wokingham is?'

I looked up, and instantly looked down. I was nothing if not well-trained.

'You could try the Tube to Wycombe, then the bus to Bracknell station?'

'Are you from Reading too?' There was a frown in his voice, and my hand tightened on my bag, ready to run. I shook my head, muttering the name of a large town close by.

'Do I know you?'

I shook my head, shying away, even as he sat down next to me.

'Yes I do. It's Serena, isn't it? Manchester Uni, two years ago. You fainted in the law school review, never came back. You okay?'

'M'fine.' My lip was still swollen, and I bit it, hiding the tell tale crust.

'I didn't drop out too long after you.' Why is he still talking? Why won't he go away? 'We were all pretty surprised when you left. I know you were ill, but I suppose...'

I looked up in surprise. 'I got kicked off!' I was trying to remember his name. I hadn't known anyone that well, Andrew had made sure of that. E-something? Or D? Maybe P?

'You didn't, Prof... You were dating Andrew weren't you?' I didn't miss his tone darkening, and looked up, instinctively ready to dodge, when he noticed the raised skin around my eye, took in the other marks visible above my oversized fleeceneck.

'Jesus.'

'I have to go now.' I was polite, but insistent, and I stood up with all the gravitas I could muster, but gave the game away when he stood and I hunched automatically.

'You're not going anywhere. The bastard fucking battered you, didn't he?' I flinched involuntarily at the curse, automatically connecting it with the threat of a punch. 'Shi-sorry. I know Andrew. I went to school with him... Look, where are you going?'

I couldn't lie. Andrew had beaten that into me well. 'Barbican.'

'I'll take you there. You're not going anywhere alone. Not in that state.'

He was true to his word. He even paid for the taxi. Respectfully, he left me at the front door of the flat complex, giving me his number- 'in case anything went wrong.'

'Is there a name I can save that to?' I asked. I wanted his name, but had no intention of trusting him. He'd said that he knew Andrew. Andrew was a cat, sleek, well-groomed and charming, and full of unexpected contacts. I didn't trust this stranger any further than I could throw him. I hadn't even guided him to the right flat.

'Dan.'

Dan. My unlikely Good Samaritan or my Anne Frank conspirator?

*

Time passed slowly. This wasn't a fairytale. This was life, and life brought bills and taxes and London's overexpensive rent. I tentatively began studying again, this time with the Open University, where I could study at home, and financed it with part-time barista work.

He began to visit more often. I would catch a glimpse of him, engrossed in his Macbook.

_The first time, I froze. Andrew's little spy, the worker to his honeybee._

I carefully finished the rest of my shift, hiding in the back for a good fifteen minutes before slipping out of the fire escape and jogging a good half mile.

'Wait!'

Not on your life, thought I. I've come too far for this, for him to tear my life apart again.

'I mean it Serena, please, wait! I've got to tell you something.'

I ground to a halt, whirling around and marching up to him.

'Fine, you want to tell me something? From Andrew, I assume. Well, you can tell him...'

'It's not from Andrew.'

I stopped, mid-rant, and glared quizzically. I was done being told what to do by...

'I know you think that I'm his little spy, but I'm not. I hate him. Really, really hate him,' he implored, 'We lived streets away from each other, our mums were friends, but he was a bully, a real charming arsehole.'

'His own friends admitted that, but they still stayed loyal to him.'

'I know. But I hated, hated, hated him. He battered a girl I knew, and got away with it because nobody could believe that _Andrew __had done it. I couldn't help her, but I want to help you. Look at this.' He pulled his phone from his pocket, flicking through his iMessages before drawing one up._

'It's from my mum. Andrew guessed you might go to London, so he asked his mother to contact her friends in London, and she asked my mother, who asked me. He made out that you were mentally unstable, then changed it to a pregnancy, then claimed that you stole his money.'

'So why do you want to help me? You think I'm mental.' I wanted to go home. Home, what a wild concept.

'I _don't.__ I know Andrew's a lying, manipulating bastard, and even my mother hates him now. You want proof that I'm not in cahoots with him? Look.' He flicked over to another iMessage, this time to an unsaved number, but one I recognized. 'That's Andrew's number, isn't it?'_

Wordlessly, I nodded, seizing the phone and scrolling through the conversation. It was short, five messages both ways.

_**-Hey mate, its Andy. Listen, I know it's been a while, but I heard you've been living in London awhile, and my girlfriend's just done a runner. Normally I'd just chalk it up to experience, y'know, but she's pregnant, and she's stolen quite a bit of my cash, which I'm fine with, but Dad isn't, and I don't want the police getting hold of her, particularly in one of the turns she has. I attached a pic, could you circulate it to your crowd? Cheers mate, do text me if you see her.**_

-Hey Andy, it's Dan. I actually knew your girl, she was on my course back at Manchester, and I circulated the picture to a couple of London and ex-uni mates. Nothing came of it till a couple days ago, mate of mine working at Heathrow spotted her at the airport leaving for Durban, she's half South-African, isn't she? He couldn't stop her, obviously but I'd say that's your best starting point.

-Yeah, she is, but she's got no family out there now, but I'll keep looking. Is your mate absolutely certain?

-Positive. He rang me ten minutes after her flight departed, went and spoke to the girl on check-in, she confirmed it.

-Shit, alright, cheers for the help. Text me if you see her again, yeah?

-Sure mate, no problem.__

'You told him I was in South Africa?'

'And he believed me. Listen, I will do anything to protect you, okay, he won't touch you on my watch.'

'I can't trust anyone.'

'I know. But I will earn your trust. Please call me.'

'I'll think about it.'

'I guess that's the best I can ask for.' Defeatedly, he turned and disappeared into the Tube station.

At home that night, I turned my new iPhone over and over in my hand, before finally building up the courage to open my address book and call the second contact.

He answered on the first ring.

'Hello?'

'Hey Dan, it's Serena. Do you want to meet up for coffee sometime tomorrow? Just as friends...'

*  
  
Relationships are a private affair. They are between two people who are attracted to each other, and they're nobody else's business. Sometimes that is a bad thing, since an absence of a rational third or fourth voice can trap one person down a single route with one exit. Almost like a rabbit hole with one entrance. Sure, it protects you from a creeping predator, but what if the real predator is in the hole with you, blocking the escape? That was my relationship with Andrew. Cramped, dark, isolated, alone but for one vicious, vicious human contact with whom I had idiotically fallen in love with. It was my love and his control that had trapped me, but in those brief seconds it had taken me to escape that control, I had also torn free from the shackles of my own love for him. But my tentative relationship with Dan was different. I was unwilling to be shackled again, unwilling to trap myself in that dark hole again, and in that, I was unwilling to fall in love with someone who cared about me, possibly even loved me, and that hindered me for several months until one fateful day, lying in Regent's Park, alone, gazing up at the clear expanse of blue sky when I realized something. I did love Dan. I loved our secret evenings turning into sleepy mornings, our gaming sessions as I gradually learned to play XBox, our walks around London, Camden in particular, just the time spent together 'being friends.' I relied on him for nothing, I was independent to the point he claimed I was damaging his chivalry, but he understood. The only time he laid a finger on me was to squeeze my hand gently, often coupling it with a chaste kiss. I loved the pleasant surprised smile as I initiated our first, proper kiss. I loved him. But as the ephiphany continued, I realized that I was holding back, unwilling to plunge myself down the rabbit hole, when in fact, all I was doing was grounding myself from flying up to the nest as the top of the tree, Dan's nest, away and safe from Andrew's rabbit hole.

I had been afraid when I admitted that, afraid that the nest would overbalance under the weight of my emotional baggage, but it didn't. The sun grew brighter, stronger, warmer, and I was happy.

Dan didn't need to protect me. I could protect myself, he was merely my strength to lift me back up, but in return, I could take my armour off in front of him, to be me again. This wasn't a quick process, it took a good year and a half, but as Dan put it, 'Every second just strengthens the next.'

*

But with every sun, there must come cloud. Dan was my sun, and Andrew was my stormcloud, edging ever closer, and that frightened me. But in a never-ending day of sunshine, one can forget how close the storm is, and in my case, it was closer than I feared.

Two years is a long time. People forget in two years, and we had grown careless. We were leaving a restaurant, dressed to the nines after an evening of good-yet-far-too-much food and better music with Dan's flatmate Phil and his girlfriend, when we ducked into a side street, taking the shortcut through the Barbican underpass when somebody grabbed my shoulder. I gasped, recoiling and then muffled a scream as the stranger's face loomed closer.

'A-Andrew...' I stuttered.

'She's in Durban, is she Dan?' The sound of his voice... God, it was sending me all the way back. 'Though I don't get why you wanted her. Frigid little...'

'Shutup.' Dan's voice was barely controlled at Andrew's mockery.

'Still, she's well trained. What's your favourite? The flinch at a loud noise?'

Dan moved to push me behind him, but I stood firm, shoulder to shoulder with him.

'Or the way she jumps whenever you raise a hand? Won't answer the door, let's you choose TV or dinner or date night? Hides in the bathroom when she's ill? Asks your permission to go outside? She's a damn good cook, ain't she? Or my favourite, obeys any command, especially in the bed...'

Andrew reeled backwards and Dan and I stared at each other, before down at our clenched fists. We had both punched him simultaneously. Dan had gone for the mouth, splitting the lip and cracking two teeth whilst I had gone for the direct shot, sinking every shred of bitterness, anger, and underlying traces of submissiveness in one, massive, Fuck You punch, straight through the nose.

There was no gratuity. No pleasure. If anything, there was guilt, and an unfamiliar prickling in my tearducts. I couldn't cry. I had forgotten how to. But, as I fumbled with the doorkey, warm arms spun me round, pulling me into a warmer chest, and pressing loving kisses on the top of my head.

'I couldn't save you when he had hold of you,' Dan murmured, 'But you don't need saving. You're stronger than Andrew ever thought. A freaking hero.'

'Heroes need saving too.' I whispered

'No they don't. They just need to remember that they aren't ever alone, and they are far stronger than they think. You matter Serena. You are the most important part of me.'

I wasn't alone. He was right. I didn't need saving. I didn't need to be protected. I didn't need to be loved. But I wanted to be loved. And I had chosen to love someone, and be loved back. No power shifts, no egotistical demands, not violence, just a quiet, unassuming but deep, gentle love.

And that, is all love should be.

'Love is humble. Love does not seek power, or pride, and love is gentle. You can add bells and whistles, and pretty little frills but, in the end, stripped to it's raw beauty, it'll still love just as deeply, and far more beautifully.' -Jenny

And the best bit? There is no end.

Apart from this one.

The End.

For now.

*

So. Thoughts? This is quite an important AN, so I'd appreciate it if you stuck around to read it. The story was a request, but the plot is personal experience, though not as awful as poor Serena of the story. But I needed to write this story. I picked a random fandom, but this story is aimed at older teenagers, fifteen-sixteen year olds (fans of such a demographic are common to Dan) who are beginning to blossom and grow new relationships. I want you to take this as a warning, and also a message of support. There isn't always a magical healing love who can protect you, as is the case in many dom-abuse fanfiction. The Serena of my story could be any one of you, but crucially, as ill as she was, as I was, she got out alone, and was strong enough to make her own choices, and not rely on others. It's okay to love, it's okay to care, but it's not okay to rely on others. There is help available, but it isn't magic. If there is something troubling you, SORT IT!

Finally, Serena is fictional, but she could be any one of you. Certainly she is similar to me, but I certainly haven't found a wild Danisnotonfire for coffee and love. If you do find yourself in an unhealthy relationship, GET OUT. Nothing, not even 'love' is worth staying with them. They aren't worth it. If you need help, contact me via PM and I promise to respond.

I love you all.

Bye guys.


End file.
